


Get Your Freak On

by Devilc



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim and Jean meant to work on Civics but some how ended up on Sex Ed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Your Freak On

**Author's Note:**

> Assumes you've seen Season 2. Written for FNL Rally Girls prompt #10: Inebriated.
> 
> Thank you Turnonmyheels for the beta.

It's been kind of a shitty day. Not a _real_ shitty one, but just an average shitty one.

So, sometimes, on shitty days, when he wants to be alone, Tim heads for the bleachers. For some reason, sitting there and looking out at the field and having a beer or three takes the edge off.

All the best moments of his life are associated with Hermann Field, or fields just like it.

Granted, the cow pasture wasn't like any other field he ever played on, but ... that was different. (And every once in awhile, embracing the suck leads to something even cooler than it could've been without the suck ... if that makes sense.)

Tim reaches into his backpack and cracks open a can as the sun starts to set and the shadows crawl across the field. He takes a gulp and thinks about that chilly night that he and Jason buried the hatchet and ... realizes that he's not the only person here.

Unless he's mistaken, that weird Jean girl who was going after Landry a few weeks ago is about 4 rows down and 60 feet over. Funny. Because the football field is about the last place her kind comes.

Tim's quiet except for sipping his beer and wondering what got _her_ here, but something causes her to look up and back and yeah, it's Jean, and she jerks a bit when she sees him. He smiles at her and hefts his can in salute.

She turns away and wipes at her face and picks up her little boxy purse thing and slings her bag over her shoulder. Tim's surprised when she doesn't take the long way around to the next exit, but instead heads directly for the nearest one, and when she's about to pass right in front of him, Tim can see that she's been crying.

"You okay?" Tim's not sure who's more surprised by that question, her or him. He doesn't mean to speak. It just happens.

"No, I am not okay," Jean huffs angrily. Then, curious almost, "Why do you care?"

She's got a pink and black bow with a little cartoony skull on it right in the middle of her hair. It makes Tim smile. "Believe it or not, I've had my heart broken, too."

Jean looks at him for a long time, head cocked to the side. Tim reaches into his bag and fishes out a can.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she mutters as she climbs up the bleachers and takes it.

Tim can't help but notice that her little plaid mini is nearly as short as a cheerleaders' skirt and that her tights have spiders on them and she's got _nice_ legs. She's the Queen Freak, but he's got to give her that.

"I hate her," Jean hisses as she cracks the top, takes a huge chug, belches, and wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing what was left of her lipstick something fierce.

Tim has to look away quick or he'll laugh.

Jean studies the smear on the back of her hand, looks up at nothing in particular, and says, "Well, _that_ was bright." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a kleenex. "I must look like a real fucking freak now."

Tim tries to tell her she looks fine, but gives a strangled snerk instead, and Jean smiles too as she wipes away the worst of the mess, so it's okay.

"She's tall and blond and ... so ordinary. And --" Jean sucks in a hitchy breath. "Why did she have to take him away from me? She can have any boy she wants. Guys are lining up around the block for her. Why can't she take one of them?!"

He has no idea what to do, so Tim just takes another chug from his can.

"You're her ex," Jean says and sips. "Please tell me _something_ about her."

He shrugs. "There's nothing to say about her that you and the school don't already know. Sorry."

"Oh." She gulps from her can. "That was really mean of me. I'm not normally --"

"I get it."

"Really?!"

Tim finishes the last of his can. "Really."

"Okay." And then she turns and faces him, sitting sideways, legs crossed. "So, what about you? Like, how'd you get that black eye?"

Tim snorts. "I was stupid." He has no idea on how to begin to tell her about Guy, and Billy (and Jackie), and Lyla fronting him the three grand to pay Guy back.

"Well, duh!" Jean says brightly, and he knows it's not meant seriously, but it's still annoying. "So, what's _his_ name so that we can bitch about how he doesn't deserve her?"

Tim throws back his head and laughs because ... well, _because_. "Chris," he finally says, "and he's a good Christian from a rich family, and he's the perfect guy for her and ... _he's such a fucking goody two shoes_ that I just want to grab him and do something to just peel back his act and find out what's really there. He's so phony."

"Like plastic phony?"

"God, yeah -- is there such thing as fake plastic?"

Jean chokes on her beer and flops back, legs still crossed, and giggles hysterically.

(God_DAMN_, she's limber.)

When Jean finally gets her breath back she wheezes, "No, but there ought to be, for people like that. _Fake_ plastic. Faux plastic." She giggles some more and sits up, exclaiming, "Faux plastique!"

"Huh?"

She gives him a million watt smile. "Most people think everything sounds better if they Frenchify it. It just shows how pretentious they are." She nods happily.

"I think you're on to something there." Tim's smiling. He feels better and it's only been one beer.

"Oh, look at the time," Jean says, glancing at her watch. And like that she's gone, skipping down the stairs -- she's got a surprisingly nice ass -- and then vanishes in the exit.

~oo(0)oo~

Tim thinks about her on the drive home.

It dawns on him as he's trying to figure out his chemistry homework.

She's girl Landry.

~oo(0)oo~

Jean gives him a "what the?" look when he slides back a chair and sits down at the table with her and her little gaggle of Freaks a few days later at the library. "Hi, I need a favor."

She's got Hello Kitty clips in her hair. They're so silly they make him want to laugh.

She just lifts an eyebrow at him.

Right. "Look, I got myself in a bind this semester and normally, I'd ask Landry --"

"You-know-who." One of the Freaks cuts him off.

"We don't say his name," Jean clarifies.

_Ohhhkaaay_. "Yeah, him, and normally, he's my go to guy, but --" Tim jerks his head in the general direction of the table where Landry, Matt, and Tyra are hunched over their books.

Jean mmmns softly and chews on the end of her pen.

"Look, I can't ask Julie Taylor because she's not taking this class, and people will talk, and Coach will get the wrong idea _again_ and ..." Sigh. This isn't going quite the way he wants. "Look, think how it will mess with their heads, seeing us --"

"Sold!" Jean chirps happily.

~oo(0)oo~

Tim makes sure the house looks decent before Jean comes over to help him with his Civics paper on caucuses vs. primaries. She's not Lyla, so it's not like he _cleans_ the place. He just throws the dirty clothes and any other really embarrassing crap in the laundry room or piles it on Billy's bed. (Billy's note says he won't be home until morning, so Tim will have time to take care of that after Jean goes home.)

~oo(0)oo~

Somewhere along the line the books and papers get pushed aside and they start watching a Jackass: The Movie marathon on cable and then start working on that case of longnecks in the fridge.

From time to time, Jean laughs hysterically at something Bam or Johnny's doing and shouts out "Ho-yay!", but she won't tell him what's so funny, or what "ho-yay" means because, "Doing that would break your brain, Tim."

~oo(0)oo~

Never, in a million years, did Tim mean to do this, and he's pretty sure that Jean didn't come over tonight meaning to either, but they're both beer buzzed and kissing on the couch while Kentucky Fried Movie plays in the background.

~oo(0)oo~

She's _little_. Tim didn't really notice that before. Not that Lyla is huge (Tyra's in a class of her own) but Jean's like 98 pounds soaking wet and a foot shorter than Tyra, and ... Tim kind of digs it, being so much bigger.

Jean's also got no problems telling him exactly what she wants, and that's kind of fun, too.

~oo(0)oo~

When it comes to tits, Tim's of the opinion that anything more than a handful is a waste, and frankly, so is anything more than a mouthful.

Jean's nipples are tiny and pink and fun to tease with his tongue and Jean arches like a cat when he does that.

~oo(0)oo~

Tim's got her skirt pushed up and he hooks his fingers into her panties and shimmies them down as she arches up and tells him to _hurry_, and --

_She's got all her hair there_. It's the first time in ... longer than he can remember that Tim hasn't seen a landing strip.

"Something wrong?" Jean asks.

"No, nothing," he says and dives in.

~oo(0)oo~

_OhGod_.

More hair means there's more smell, and more smell for some reason means there's more taste.

More _girl_ taste.

And yeah, so there's a few moments of unfortunate flossing, but Tim feels as if his whole body is throbbing and jolting because the only thing better than going down on a hot snatch is being balls deep in one.

He can tell that Jean's getting close by the way her body's shivering and jolting and he can feel her trembling under his tongue, little micro-flutters and fresh surges of girl juice, so he slips a finger in (_ohgod she's so hot/tight/wet_) and crooks it and his dick just spasms in his too-tight jeans and he's got to get her off right now, so he wiggles his finger and licks her like she's soft-serve on a hot day.

Jean bucks and cries out as her legs clamp on his head like a vice, and he can't move, can't turn his head, can't pull back, is just smothering in hot, wet, girl, and she's coming and coming and coming and Tim's dying to take a breath, but at the same time, it's _pussy_ so at least he'll die happy.

_Finally_ she goes limp and Tim sucks in a huge, ragged gasp of air. He's got sticky girl juice all over his face ... and he wonders if it looks like he just snarfed down a really ripe peach or something, because that's what it feels like.

He doesn't ask, just unzips, rolls the condom on, and slides in all the way.

_Holy mother of fuck, she's tight_. Tim closes his eyes and focuses on not coming.

Finally, she shifts beneath him and he takes that as his cue to get to work. He means to be gentle, to make it good for her, but he keeps forgetting because he's so hard and so close, but he must be doing something right because Jean's got a stream of "ohGod" and "ohTim" coming out of her mouth and she's bucking up to meet him as much as she can, and Tim closes his eyes and comes in a long brain melting blur as she shouts something and _clenches_ around him.

~oo(0)oo~

Tim means to pull out, roll off, get up, clean up, zip up, and get Jean home.

But he's still mostly drunk, he's got girl all over his face, and he's just come.

He's _done_.

Jean's breath feels so good against the side of his neck as he pulls out and shifts a little to the side and kisses her softly on her dreads, and he's just going to lay here for a minute and ....

~oo(0)oo~

Sunlight stabs his eyes and Billy's being incredibly damn loud as he barges through the front door and -- 

_FUCK!_

School!

_Jean!_

Jean shrieks awake and twists and shoves and Tim scrambles back, head throbbing, and the condom's stuck to the fly of his jeans and there's come all over the both of them, and some on the couch, too, and he sits down just in time to see Jean frantically scoop up panties, bra, shirt and glasses before scampering down the hall towards the bathroom.

_Shit._

With a groan, Tim runs his hands over his face and through his hair before sheepishly glancing up at Billy, who's standing there, hands on his hips, surveying the scene: beer bottles all over the coffee table, books and papers on the floor, Airplane on the TV, and his baby brother's dick hanging out his jeans.

_Here comes the lecture_, Tim thinks through the dull throb of his hangover.

Billy scratches idly under his ball cap, looks at Jean's bra on the floor where she dropped it, looks back at him, and says, "Tim, that girl style her hair with a weed whacker or something?"


End file.
